


oh, why you gotta be so talkative?

by iovewords



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, mj gets laryngitis, sort of sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iovewords/pseuds/iovewords
Summary: MJ is considering breaking up with her boyfriend.Oh, it’s nothing personal.It’s just that during their stomach-dropping swing through the city from dizzying, terrifying heights- that he insisted would be fun, MJ, I promise you’re gonna love it- she screamed and shrieked (directly into his ear) so much that she lost her voice.Acute laryngitis to be precise. Self-diagnosis was kind of obvious.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 33
Kudos: 98





	oh, why you gotta be so talkative?

**Author's Note:**

> this is more fluff than plot.
> 
> title from "talk too much" by coin

MJ is considering breaking up with her boyfriend.

Oh, it’s nothing personal.

It’s just that during their stomach-dropping swing through the city from dizzying, terrifying heights- that he insisted would be fun, MJ, I promise you’re gonna love it- she screamed and shrieked (directly into his ear) so much that she lost her voice.

Acute laryngitis to be precise. Self-diagnosis was kind of obvious.

She pretty much knew it the second her shoes hit solid pavement, heart slamming in her chest, legs wobbling like jello, and face still buried in the crook of his neck.

“You okay?” Peter had asked as she raised her head, and if she wasn’t so completely frozen by adrenaline and the phantom roar of wind still in her ears she would have leveled him with one withering glare.

“Yeah,” she croaked, grimacing at the hoarse sound coming out of her mouth. “But I’m never doing that again. _Never_.”

She couldn’t see his expression under his mask but she knew he looked guilty. Good. He should.

“I’m sorry. I really thought you would like it.”

Ha. He thought wrong.

Now hours later back at home, she sits in bed grumpily snuggled under her blanket with a book and a cup of chamomile tea with honey that’s doing little to soothe her scratchy throat. She’s been resting her voice all evening and drinking plenty of fluids but it still hurts. Despite her best attempts to focus on the page in front of her, all she can think about is how much she wants to chew out her dumbass boyfriend. Not that she could even if he were here because all she can muster out are feeble little croaks and hoarse whispers.

Irony is so cruel sometimes.

Said dumbass boyfriend is currently out on patrol, defending the good people of Queens. He’s probably going to swing by (pun intended) to visit her afterwards.

The thrill of sneaking him into her bedroom through her window while her parents are asleep has been all the more exhilarating since they made their relationship official a few months ago. Aside from the stomach clenching times when Peter arrives with cuts and bruises and bloody noses, MJ loves these clandestine nighttime visits. She always feels simultaneously braver and more vulnerable when they lay pressed together in her twin bed, lazily kissing and feeling the calming pulse of each other’s heartbeats under their palms.

Anyway.

Tonight Peter is banned from visiting because the horrible inflamed state of her vocal cords is _all his fault_. Of course, MJ shares responsibility in that it was her who actually did all of the screaming and yelling. But that was an involuntary response and she never would have done it if he hadn’t taken her on that horrible experience in the first place. So to reiterate: it’s all his fault.

Her parents don’t know this, because she couldn’t tell them the truth, so she lied and said she lost her voice on the roller coasters at Coney Island. It’s a half lie because they really did go there for the second half of their date. Except MJ was very firm about avoiding everything with heights.

“I’m sorry, baby,” her mom had said earlier that evening, searching through her medicine cabinet to find lozenges. “But at least you had a fun day with Peter that made it worth it, right?”

Fearing for her life as they hurtled seventy miles per hour above the city streets? No, not really. But yes, her day did turn around for the better once they arrived at Luna Park. They got soft serve ice cream on the boardwalk and Peter won her a stuffed tiger at the arcade. But not one of those ridiculous adult-human-sized plushies, because they’re fun for about three seconds until you remember you have to carry them around with you for the rest of the day. And then when you get home, what are you supposed to do with them? They’re all destined to end up in landfills and MJ is not about that thoughtless, environmentally-unfriendly life.

She likes the tiger he got her, despite being angry with him. It’s cute.

MJ is beyond relieved it’s summer break. Having to deal with classes and being decathlon captain with no audible speaking voice would be a pain in the ass. And because she doesn’t have much of a social life beyond hanging out with the dork squad, daily communication shouldn’t be too much of a problem while she recovers. The internet says that her voice should return in a little over a week as long as she takes it easy. She can deal.

But she’s still annoyed.

While MJ doesn’t care for talking for the sake of talking (especially if it’s “to play devil’s advocate”), she does have a voice that she’s not afraid to use. Whether she’s standing up for herself or for issues she cares about, whether she’s in class or at protests, MJ likes speaking her mind. Especially when she gets to knock annoying jerks down a peg. Especially especially when those annoying jerks are smarmy sunglasses-wearing billionaires (who, to be fair, do ultimately seem impressed by her verbal acuity).

Now unfortunately, any attempts to assert herself or sling clever sarcastic one liners at her friends and enemies will be undercut by the fact that she sounds like Kermit the fucking frog.

Speaking of (Peter, not Kermit)... A knock at her window pulls MJ from her musings and she sets her book on the nightstand, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Go away, Peter,” she rasps out as loudly as she can. She’s not sure if he can hear her, because her voice is so small and the window is shut, but on the other hand, Peter has super hearing.

She can see him at the window, the streetlights casting an orange glow around him. He knocks again and waves.

“Go away,” MJ repeats, louder this time.

“What? MJ, come on.” His own voice sounds confused and slightly muffled through the glass.

“No. You’re banned tonight. I’ve banned you.”

“I thought you were joking,” Peter says, referring to their text conversation:

_MJ: I sound like a dying frog. You’re banned from visiting tonight_

_Peter: sorry [frog emoji]_

_MJ: [middle finger emoji]_

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“You used an emoji. I thought that implied it was a joke.”

“Well it wasn’t and I was flipping you off.”

“You’re always flipping me off.”

Hm. Fair point.

When she doesn’t say anything else (she’s supposed to be resting her voice after all), Peter slumps his shoulders in concession.

“Oh. Okay. I’m really sorry about your voice. And the whole swinging experience. Honestly... I didn’t realize you’d hate it so much. I thought it would be fun. And um. Romantic.”

A beat of silence.

“Okay, um. Bye then.” Peter shuffles around in his crouched position and puts out a hand to fire off a web.

“Wait,” MJ sighs.

He spins back around immediately.

“Get in here, loser, before I change my mind again.”

Peter slides open the window, drops to the floor and pulls off his mask in one fluid motion. He doesn’t make any further movement though, gazing at her as she sits up in her bed, his face an expression sandwich of trepidation, guilt, and cautious hope.

MJ folds her arms.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again, painfully earnest.

A sudden cough forces its way out of her throat, the consequence of repeatedly using her voice after she’s been so good all evening about not doing so. Peter frowns in concern as she takes a sip of her lukewarm tea. Setting the mug down, MJ inhales deeply, resolute about limiting her words.

She extends a hand toward him.

Uncertainly, Peter approaches her bed, and she pats the space next to where her legs are covered by the blankets. Sinking down slowly onto the mattress, he blinks at her, trying to gauge her expression.

Peter opens his mouth, almost certainly to apologize yet again, and she covers it with her hand. She shakes her head at him and allows herself a small smile, a silent acceptance of his apology. He’s an idiot, but she knows he means well.

And maybe…well, maybe neither of them should talk for a while.

She can feel his own smile as his mouth stretches under her splayed palm. Leaning forward, she replaces her hand with her lips, and he returns the kiss with great enthusiasm. His hand comes around to cup the back of her head, pulling her in. The kiss is good, warm and sweet, and her heartbeat swells at the gentle touch of his thumb stroking her skin.

They finally pull away to breathe and MJ keeps her eyes closed.

“Do you want me to stay?” Peter murmurs in her ear.

She nods, opening her eyes and he stands up and presses the spider symbol on his chest. Shamelessly she watches as he strips off the suit and then does an awkward hopping kick as it gets caught on his foot. He almost falls over and she laughs, husky and croaking.

Peter climbs back into the bed with her while she scootches over, wiggling close until their shoulders and bare legs are touching. It’s hot tonight and she’s grateful for the air conditioning, especially since his body heat is making her warmer.

MJ’s hand brushes his chest as she reaches across him to grab her phone from the nightstand. She needs to set an alarm for the morning to kick him out before her parents wake. She thinks stupidly how she’ll already miss him.

Maybe it’s a good thing she can’t speak or she’d say that embarrassing thought out loud. She’s always able to keep her cool around everyone but him. Whether this is due to comfortable trust or still present butterflies, she’s not sure. MJ will ramble and rant, about politics and feminist literature and memes and foreign films and everything inbetween. And he truly listens, which she knows is a ridiculously low bar for teenage boys, but she appreciates it anyway.

After closing out of her alarm app, she pulls up her notes app and types.

_Hi_

“Hi,” Peter says quietly, reading the screen.

_How was patrol?_

“Mhm, relatively uneventful. Although a bachelorette party tried to invite me to a bar.”

_And you turned them down? You could have made that bride’s entire night you know_

“I know… but I don’t think being Spider-Man would give me a pass with the bartender. I don’t want to be giving my age away.”

MJ nods solemnly.

_True_

“Also,” Peter adds, “I have no idea what my alcohol tolerance is. I don’t know if I can even _get_ drunk.”

_Because of your freaky spider metabolism?_

“Yeah. I haven’t tested the theory since I got bitten. But before that though, I’m pretty sure I was a lightweight.”

MJ raises her eyebrows.

“One time I mixed up my glass of grape juice with Ben’s Manischewitz wine.”

_Wow what a rebel_

Peter laughs. “It was an accident! I thought it tasted off but didn’t say anything. He realized when I’d already downed half of it and then switched them back when May wasn’t looking. She found out anyway because apparently half a glass was all it took to get me tipsy.” He pauses. “Also I was like… eight.”

MJ snorts which makes her cough. She picks up her mug to take another sip of her tea but it’s gone cold now. Sighing, she gets to her feet and holds up her pointer finger to Peter signaling for him to wait as she gets water from the kitchen. She holds her breath as she tiptoes down the hall past her parent’s room.

When she comes back carrying two glasses of water, she finds Peter fully stretched out, hands folded behind his head and eyes shut. There’s no way he’s already asleep because she was gone for one minute, and he’s flexing his biceps. Rolling her eyes, she sets the water down on her nightstand and unceremoniously flops on top of him as revenge for hogging her bed.

“Oof,” Peter grunts as her elbow catches him in the stomach. “Comfortable?”

“Very,” MJ says with a saccharine grin, forgetting already she shouldn’t be talking. “You make a good pillow.”

He gives her an equally shit eating grin. “And you sound so cute with that tiny froggy voice.”

“Oh fuck you,” she croaks out.

The thing is he probably really does think it’s cute. Peter thinks a lot of things about her are cute. Like her slightly crooked front tooth, and the way her eyes crinkle when she gets to an exciting part in the book she’s reading. She wasn’t aware that was something she did until he pointed it out to her. MJ is smart but she’s young and doesn’t know much about being in love (not that she is, mind you. At least not yet). But she thinks it has to mean something when someone finds your weird little quirks endearing.

And it goes both ways. She likes when his hair is flattened from wearing his mask because she gets to fix it for him. She likes his weird eyebrow and the way his whole face lights up when someone mentions sci-fi movies, especially the really dumb ones. And she likes when he’s casual about using his abilities, like when he paces upside down on the ceiling or picks up the couch one handed so Aunt May can vacuum.

They spend the rest of the night watching Youtube videos; Peter webbing her phone to a strand that hangs from the ceiling so their arms don’t have to tire from holding it up. Eventually her heavy eyelids grow unable to withstand the late hour despite the bright glow of the screen, and she drifts off, her cheek smushed against his shoulder and distantly aware of his fingers in her hair.

\--

Her week of recovery goes well considerably.

MJ spends most of it hanging out with Peter and Ned, relishing the empty calendar days. It’s their last summer before senior year, before college presumably shuttles them to different cities, states, and maybe even coasts. She feels limp and loose like the slowly melting yellow popsicle that drips down her wrist as they wander Central Park. When it gets too hot they duck into air conditioned cafes and bookstores where she’s more in her element. Mostly they crash at either boy’s apartment to watch movies, play video games, or just lounge on the couch (her), floor (Ned), and ceiling (Peter).

MJ continues her communication method of texting and typing on her phone, which is annoying because it slows down her side of the conversation. On the other hand, resting her voice forces her to be more creative with nonverbal communication. She expands her arsenal of rude hand gestures to full-on pantomiming. The next time the Decathlon team needs to play a party game for team bonding, she’s going to suggest charades so she can crush them all.

\--

It’s early evening on Saturday, a week later and MJ’s voice is almost returned to its normal volume. She’s sitting with Peter on the couch at his apartment, lazily sunken into the cushions, summer sun casting beams of light through the windows onto the carpet. On TV, David Attenborough narrates as a herd of endangered elephants in Namibia trek across a desert searching for food. Ned headed out twenty minutes ago to help supervise his baby sister’s sleepover birthday party, and Aunt May texted Peter that she’ll be home in an hour and will be picking up Thai for the three of them. MJ loves staying for dinner and is looking forward to talking with Aunt May about her work at the homeless shelter.

Besides David’s dulcet tones, Peter and MJ are alone.

He nudges her foot with his. Her week of nonverbal communication has brought about an increase in physicality between them that comes naturally. They’ve been holding hands more, and when they’re not his hand makes its way to her mid-back, tentative at first because it’s a new thing, then assured when she smiles at him. Sometimes she rests her chin on his shoulder, which doubles as a smug reminder that she’s taller, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Hey,” Peter says.

“Mmm?” she hums.

“Have you thought about going swinging again?”

MJ stares at him. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I just think-”

“I _just_ got this back,” MJ glares, pointing to her throat. “And I almost died last time.”

“No you didn’t! You were perfectly safe.”

“Says you.”

“Says me who’s been doing this for three years now,” he counters.

“Well, what about the times when you’ve run out of web?”

“That almost never happens. And if I’m bringing you with me I’m going to triple check that I’ve got extra web fluid.”

“Well I’m still not doing it again,” she says resolutely, trying to refocus her attention on the documentary which is now showing a cute baby elephant. “Absolutely not.”

“I could take you at night. We could see the city lights-”

“Night is even worse! _NO!_ ”

“MJ, don’t you trust me?”

His tone is still lighthearted, but she detects an edge of earnestness as well, and she looks over at him.

“Of course I do,” she says softly, serious now. “I just don’t want to do it again. It scared me.”

“Okay,” Peter says, equally soft and nodding. “Sorry.”

She pats his knee. “I trust _you_ , Peter. It’s my fear of heights I’m not sure about.”

“That’s valid,” Peter agrees. “And I’m sorry if it seemed like I was trying to pressure you. It’s just. It’s so cool seeing the buildings and sky from up high- like- like you’re flying. Like you can let go. I really want to share that with you.”

“I know you do, dork. And it’s sweet you want to show me your whole new world Aladdin-style. But I’d rather we keep our dates closer to the ground, alright?”

Peter grins. “Alright. What kind of date are you thinking of?”

MJ considers, pursing her lips in contemplation. “Well, I’m always up for visiting the Brooklyn Museum. There’s a new exhibition for Frida Kahlo I’ve been wanting to check out.”

“Then let’s do it. Tomorrow?”

“Perhaps. I’ll have to check my schedule.” They both laugh, knowing her schedule is wide open.

Peter smiles at her and then leans forward to give her a quick kiss.

As they turn their attention back to the television, MJ takes Peter’s hand and squeezes it twice. It’s something her parents do all the time. Three squeezes for three words. She sticks with two for now because she and Peter aren’t there yet. But maybe they could be, someday.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! find me at @iovewords on tumblr!


End file.
